Mom never knew about my cottage by the sea. I made one attempt to tell her about it but she didn’t seem to get it, and when I brought it up again on my next visit, she had no memory of it. That was three and a half years ago when I first started coming here. Maybe I didn’t want her to know. Maybe it was one of my ways of letting go. She might not have understood all my reasons for wanting silence, solitude and simplicity, but she would have appreciated my need to be sometimes be alone. When I was a child, probably about ten, I remember she suggested that I go up and “spend some time by yourself in your room.” She knew I needed the solitude--maybe because she at times needed it too.
In fact, during the last ten or so years of her life, Mom would be grateful for our visits, but then she would subtly dismiss us. It was time for us to go. Mom needed to be alone.